


the handshake, the cough, the kiss

by mothwrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Curt-centric, Family, Multi, Polyamory, Timeline: college to TASM 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of his own heartbeat kept Curt up that night, in a discordant rhythm with Richard’s steady breathing from across the room. The memory of Mary whispering into his ear was the melody playing above it, her half-drunk challenge, “I’m game if you are.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the handshake, the cough, the kiss

 

_“For the clear voice suddenly singing,_

_high up in the convent wall,_

_the scent of the elder bushes,_

_the sporting prints in the hall,_

_the croquet matches in summer,_

_the handshake, the cough, the kiss,_

_there is always a wicked secret,_

_a private reason for this.”_

 

(At Last the Secret is Out - WH Auden)

 

_ prologue _

 

(Curt Connors is going to college in America, and is scared of two things.

 

a) Someone will see his left arm, and offer to help him with his luggage.

b) Someone will see his left arm, and let him struggle with his bags alone.)

 

It was a relief when his new roomate saved him the embarrassment of either option, after he strolled past Curt standing in the open doorway of their dorm room. Richard Parker picked up Curt’s suitcase and duffel and placed them on the bed nearest the window, talking a mile a minute as he did so. He stopped midway through a panegyric on the campus greenery and laughed at himself, running a hand through brown hair that stuck up at all angles.

“I’m Richard, by the way.”

Curt bit his lip to stop himself from saying, “it’s written on your backpack,” and stuck out his hand instead.

“Curt.”

“Nice to meet you, Curt. Hey, do you happen to know what floor room 47 is on?”

“You’re standing in it,” he answered, surprised.

“What, the floor?”

“No- the room.”

Richard blinked for a second before erupting into another dazzling grin.

“ _Oh!_ Well,” he laughed, again, “if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have stolen the best bed for you.”

Richard pulled off his backpack with a contented sigh of exhaustion and lay down on the bed opposite, chattering again.

 _If you didn’t know that,_ Curt couldn’t help but wonder, _then why did you help me in the first place?_

 

-

 

Richard, Curt quickly found out, was the type of person who helped _everyone._ Curt, not naturally trusting, followed him around with an ever-present sense of anxiety and wonder, watching as Richard moved with ease throughout their new daily life at college. He was from a small town and everything seemed new and exciting, everyone was a stranger waiting to become a friend. Curt was from London, and was admittedly less excited about the subway; which Richard talked on, constantly, to old women and kids and businessmen, (and really, it’s a wonder no-one  _punched_ him.)

(Curt secretly thinks that if it ever happened, Richard would smile, dust himself off, and apologise for the inconvenience. And then Curt would punch them right back.)

Richard was an idiot, but he was _Curt’s_ idiot, and he was ready to defend him to the death when he would inevitably make a fool of himself in class. But- he didn’t. He half-listened to the lectures and joked through the seminars but _shone_ in the laboratory, and his written work was top-notch.

Curt’s wasn’t used to not being the best, and didn’t quite know how to deal with it. The first time Richard beat him in a test, he was simultaneously proud and _furious,_ and Richard teased him about it all night.

The smile was quickly wiped off his face the next lesson. (Curt didn’t win an international scholarship for nothing, damn it.)

 

-

When Curt finally met Mary, the journalism student with “the nicest smile on _human record,_ ” they were at a house party. Richard was late enough that Curt had two beers while waiting for him, and, not being used to alcohol, found that approaching Mary was a lot less scary than he’d imagined at the beginning of the night. She was nice enough- organising a protest about something or other, should he be interested. After about ten minutes of conversation, he leaned in, and stage whispered:

“My best friend is in love with you.”

He expected her to blush. She quirked an eyebrow.

“Then I guess we have that in common.”

At that exact moment, Richard arrived and bounded over, slinging an arm around Curt’s shoulders as he did so. He was damp from the rain outside, and Curt felt water droplets run onto his cheek as Richard leaned in close. Mary laughed, not unkindly, and smiled at him.

He doubted that it was the same one Richard had described. His version sounded less... terrifying.

The sound of his own heartbeat kept Curt up that night, in a discordant rhythm with Richard’s steady breathing from across the room. The memory of Mary whispering into his ear was the melody playing above it, her half-drunk challenge, “ _I’m game if you are.”_

 

-

Richard wasn’t stupid.

He loved Curt, so he let him baby him, let him be protective and cautious because he knows Curt wants to feel useful, and valued. He loved Mary, so he let her teach him about things he already knew; journalists he’d already read, political movements he was already part of. After a while she wasn’t fooled, changed tack, and Richard was left sheepish and breathless, thinking- _I’ve been clever for too long_. He’s not stupid, and he saw how the two of them look at each other, and how they look at _him._

It took them _far_ too long to finally make a move, but Richard resolved to be patient. He thought it was sweet how they approached him like a skittish deer. He let them coddle for him as long as his patience would allow, and then after their second, not-quite-a-date, he shattered any remaining illusions by kissing them both senseless, until Mary didn’t have the breath to tease him any more and Curt could only stare, wide-eyed. It felt _good._

“So that’s how to shut you up,” he laughed. “See, I know _some_ things you don’t.”

Curt responded by pinning him to the bed with a growl, and Mary hit the lights. They stopped treating him like he was made of glass, and he was _oh-so_ thankful.

 

(In the morning, they have a real talk, once someone’s given Curt some caffeine and Mary’s gone for a run. Richard stops acting naive. Curt makes new friends, and doesn’t watch Richard out of the corner of his eye any more- well, not as _much._ Mary calls them both idiots, and in moves in a month later.

They’re her idiots, after all.)

 

*

 

_ part one _

 

“He’s late,” Mary groaned, and Curt looked down to see her face, head resting in his lap, and further on, the pregnancy bump that looked full to bursting. He checked his watch.

“He’s not due home for another hour or so.”

“Not Richard. _Peter._ ”

That brought a chuckle out of him. “Only by a few days.”

“A few days?” Unsuccessfully, she tried to twist around to look at him properly and gave up, with an even bigger sigh. “A _few_ days? Do you want to carry around a watermelon in your uterus for _a few days?_ ”

“No, no I don’t. But I don’t think it’s an exact science, either. Just be-”

“ _Don’t_ tell me to be patient.”

“Peter,” he smiled, addressing the bump, “maybe you _should_ hurry up, because there’s an angry pregnant woman crushing my legs. And I’d like to keep my remaining limbs int- ow!” It had worked, though, Mary was laughing. Curt could hear another laugh join in; Richard’s. He looked up to see him leaning against the doorway, surveying the two of them fondly. He was still in his lab coat, briefcase in hand.

“Hello, darlings,” he greeted them; looking tired, as usual, but still smiling. “I didn’t miss anything?”

“Still pregnant,” Mary agreed. “You’re home early?”

“Norman sent me home,” he answered, while kicking off his shoes and disentangling himself from his coat and tie. “ _His_ baby was on time, apparently. They’re at the hospital now.”

“Ugh _._ Name?”

“I think they’re still going with Harry. Emily’s fine, by the way, and the baby’s healthy; about seven pounds.”

“ _Ugh._ Bitch.” Mary leaned up to kiss him hello, briefly, before collapsing back again. Curt was kissed too, and then finally the bump, making both of them laugh. Richard fell back on to the bed and nestled himself next to the two of them, sighed deeply, and took Curt’s hand.

“Not long now,” he said, more to himself than anything. “Not long now.”

As Mary started to drift off again, Curt lowered his head to speak softly into Richard’s ear.

“How was he?”

For a moment, he thought Richard hadn’t heard him. And then, even quieter, he heard:

“Not good. Getting worse. Let’s not worry about it right now, chum.”

“Hmm. Of course.” He noted Richard’s tired, almost pained expression, and gently carded his fingers through his hair. He set about tidying it, rubbing his temples, until the lines on Richard’s forehead became as smooth as his hair and his eyes crinkled up with a smile, not a frown. Mary let out a little snore. He watched the two of them as the light outside became dimmer and darker, until he had to squint to see the features of his lovers lying on the bed. Slowly, he stopped stroking Richard’s hair, and fell back against the pillows. He thought of Norman Osborn, and if he was with his wife and son right now. He imagined him sleeping peacefully, a child in his arms. The tinge of green around his wrist, slowly, but surely, spreading.

 

*

 

“Just hold him.”

“What if I drop him?”

“You’re not going to drop him.”

“I really don’t think that-”

“ _Curt._ ” Mary stood with Peter on her hip, half asleep and staring curiously but dozily at- what did Peter think of him, did he wonder? Uncle? Father? 2 weeks old, and Curt still hadn’t held him without the support of someone else. He wondered if the baby thought of him at all. “ _Curt,_ ” Mary stressed again, regaining his attention. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen you do things with one arm that most people struggle with having two. If you can cook, talk on the phone, and wash up at the same time, _you can hold your son._ ”

“If you need to put him down-”

“I don’t need to _put him down,_ I need you to _get over yourself_ and do this.” She thrust Peter forward, almost menacingly so, Curt thought, if it weren’t for the happy gurgle the baby let out.

“I smashed a mug ten minutes, ago, I don’t think a _baby_ is-”

“I’m starting to think you did that on purpose,” Richard smirked, from his seat at the kitchen table. “Go on, just hold him. He’s not very wriggly, you can do it.”

Curt eyed the baby warily, arm half-outstretched.

“And if you don’t,” Mary continued, “I’ll tell him about this when he’s 16 and trying to decide who his favourite parent is.”

Curt sighed, and carefully, the baby was given to him. He nestled Peter’s head in the crook of his elbow, laid out along his full left arm, and supported his feet as best as he could with the stump of his right. Peter wriggled, a little, then settled comfortably with his head pressed up against Curt’s chest. Curt watched him breathe, his little lips slightly parted, hair just beginning to grow. He wanted to stroke Pete’s soft, downy head, but was content to just look at him. In the background, Mary collapsed into a chair. Richard clapped. Curt rolled his eyes, and returned his gaze to his son.

 

*

 

Richard watched his wife, son, and, partner in the garden; adults spread out contentedly on the old picnic rug, children poring over something in the grass. Norman had brought Harry round, in an unexpected show of friendship. Peter, mostly in control of his legs at a young age, practically dragged a very willing Harry out to the garden to show him- whatever it was that toddlers showed each other, he supposed. He watched as Peter tried to pull up some kind of flower, too enthusiastically, and fell backward. Before Mary had reached out a hand to grab him, Harry flopped down on the grass beside him, and giggled. Peter was too startled to cry, and it was a few more tense moments before everyone else laughed too. Richard relaxed, leaning against the doorframe, and thought about moving out to join them. The moment he moved, Norman grabbed his arm. His grip was weak, but there was definite purpose behind it. Richard paused, closed his eyes and breathed out, before arranging his face to turn around and look at him.

“They’re getting along well, aren’t they?”

He nodded, studying Norman as subtly as he could. His condition was beginning to worsen more obviously; he had loosened his collar due to the heat of the day and Richard could see the dark green smudges on his skin, bigger and more pronounced than before. He walked slower, and breathed more heavily than the man he’d met several years previously. Richard ached for him.

“It’s nice to have you two here,” Richard finally replied. “We don’t know a lot of couples with kids Peter’s age, and-” he stopped himself at Norman’s fading smile. It had been a year since Emily died. “And it’s nice for him to have company,” he finished, lamely. The unspoken apology hung in the air between them. Richard was always apologising to Norman, these days.

“Mm. Harry, too. It’s... nice. Good to see Curt out of the workplace, too. Does he visit often?”

“He lives here.” _As you damn well know,_ Richard thought.

“How nice for Peter, to have his godfather so close.” Was it his imagination, or did Norman stress ‘god’ in that sentence? Richard forced himself not to rise to it. His employer, as casual as he was being at that moment, was still his employer. Still held a lot of power over him- over them both.

“Peter likes people. He likes being fussed over,” Richard said, smiling fondly in spite of himself. “He’s happiest when all three of us are around.”

“Yes,” Norman replied, slowly. “I’m sure it would be very hard for him if that weren’t the case.” When Richard looked at him quickly, staring wide-eyed, he continued, “I’m sure Harry does miss his mother, even if he’s too young to understand what happened. And it’s so important to have a stable family. For the children.”

“For the children,” Richard echoed. He stared out at the garden, at the three people he loved most in the world, and tried to imagine the scene without Mary, without Curt. Norman stood, silent beside him. He took comfort in Peter’s smile, in Mary’s hand on Curt’s leg. He imagined the scene with himself missing, and realised, uneasily, it was already true.

 

*

That night, as Curt and Richard lay entwined around her, Mary lay awake. The first few years of motherhood had left her trained to detect any kind of noise coming from Peter’s room, down the hall, but the house was silent save for Richard’s snuffles and Curt’s slow breathing. She closed her eyes and savoured it. Her cheeks were damp with the soft, quiet tears she’d let out earlier, and she kept blinking, trying to save her vision and her pride.

Curt’s eyes opened, and he was awake in an instant. She’d always envied him that, on early mornings, ever since college. He shuffled so his hand could escape from under her, and wiped the new tears away.

“Don’t cry, love,” he murmured. They looked at each other, silent and understanding. Beside them, Richard slept on.

“Which one-” she stopped, breathed. Started again. “Which one of you is in the most danger?”

“I don’t think it will help to-”

“Just tell me, Curt.”

“Richard is. Undoubtedly. I don’t know enough to be in as much danger.”

“He’ll have done that on purpose,” she noted, absent-mindedly. “He worries too much.”

“We all do.”

“Not yet, Mary. There’s still-”

“ _Stop telling me not to worry_ ,” she shot back, louder than intended. “When am I supposed to start worrying? When he disappears? When _you_ do? When Peter’s left alone?”

“It won’t come to that. Norman will see sense.”

“You saw him today. That... the poor kid.” She’d started crying again. “Poor kid.”

Richard stirred, and awoke before Curt could ask- _Peter, or Harry?_

 

 

_ part two _

 

Peter paused outside the door of his father’s study. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go in, and that his dad would be mad if he messed anything up... but Uncle Curt had said that daddy was asleep so the study would be empty. And he _really_ wanted to win this round. He looked around quickly, then turned the handle. It made a clicking noise too loud in the empty corridor, though he could still hear his mother’s radio playing softly in the kitchen. Peter dove in and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. Even though the little lamp was on, the room was still dark, and he blinked a few times before he could get used to it. He surveyed the room and decided that hiding under the desk would be the best option. Before he could get there, a dark shape at the desk moved and breathed, sounding like-

“Peter?” His dad asked, moving quickly to turn up the lamp. He blinked quickly at the brightness, and Peter bit his lip, shrinking back. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing, I was just trying to- I was hiding,” he trailed off. “Uncle Curt said you were asleep.”

“I was. That’s okay.” His dad smiled, and shuffled his chair to the edge of the desk so Peter could run in for a hug. He was hoisted onto Richard’s lap and curled up small, smelling ink and the warm, familiar _dad_ smell, eyes scrunched up as he pressed his face into the old, soft sweater. Richard chuckled and pulled him in closer. “I’m sorry, kid. I haven’t been around much lately, have I? Were you playing hide-and-seek?”

Peter nodded. “I’m losing. I was gonna hide under the desk.”

“You wanna do that now? I promise I won’t tell if he comes in.”

Peter grinned, and dove under the desk just before there was a soft knock on the study door. When Curt came in, half-looking for Peter but more concerned about his partner, both Parkers had to try not to giggle.

When Peter had been ‘found’, ( _but I found daddy_ , he protested, _and that’s more important!_ ) fed, bathed, and put to bed, Richard locked his study door and fell into bed himself, still fully clothed. Curt had followed him in, looking stern, and he wasn’t prepared for a lecture.

He got one anyway. “He’s starting to notice how busy you are.”  
“Of course he is, he’s a smart kid.”

“Takes after his mother.”  
“Harsh. But true.” Wearily, Richard pulled himself back up into a sitting position. “He’s not _worried,_ though.”

“I am. You think I didn’t see the contingency plans on your desk? Didn’t see you researching plane tickets and god knows what else? _Richard._ ” He strode over to the bed, and took his partner’s face in his hand. “For God’s sake, _talk_ to me.”

“Later. I need to sleep.”

“Richard-”

“Come on, darling.” He pulled Curt down a little, until he was forced to sit beside him. Richard drooped a little, rested his head down on Curt’s shoulder. Breathed in, breathed out. “Tomorrow. Let’s do this tomorrow.”

Curt relented, a little, and kissed him. “Fine. But we _will_ talk about this tomorrow, Richard. Mary too.”

“Pete’s going on a playdate tomorrow. We can have a long talk about it then, promise.”

“With who? Not the Osborn kid? _Richard,_ ” he sighed, when the guilt on Richard’s face showed in his non-answer. “Seriously?”

“They’re friends! I’m supposed to stop my son from seeing his best friend?”  
“When his best friend is the son of the person trying to control us, then yes, you _are._ ”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is-”

“I don’t see you severing all ties with Norman.”

“I barely ever see the man, it’s you he wants.”

Richard looked darkly at him. “It won’t be like that forever. Let Pete play with his friend, for now. It can’t hurt, at this stage.”

“I hate it when you talk like that.”

“Well, you were always telling me to be more serious.”

“Not like- oh, come to bed. Tomorrow. I might not get many more nights with you here.” His tone was sharper than he’d intended, and Richard wilted under it. They got dressed for bed in silence, and only when Mary came in, and kissed them both, did they relent.

 

*

 

“Who do you think-” Mary started, before taking another long drink of wine. “Who do you think-”

“Hmm?” Richard was sprawled out next to her, the three of them enjoying the sunset in the garden while Peter was at his aunt and uncle’s.

“When Peter’s 13, 14, 15,” she continued, “who do you think the ‘cool’ parent will be?”

“You will,” Curt promised, through a slight haze of merlot. “You don’t own a labcoat.”

“I’m cool,” Richard protested, quietly.

“But there’s two of us. He’s only got one mother.”

“I’m _cool._ ”

“Mary’s... cooler. Cooler? Is that a word?”

“I’m cooler,” she affirmed.

“I work with _spiders._ He likes spiders.”

“He likes spiders because you’ve always got them around. You’ve _conditioned_ him to like spiders.”

“I can cook?”

“So can Curt.”

“ _I have a secret base in an abandoned train station._ ”

Mary sat up. Looked from Curt, to Richard, to Richard’s full glass of wine.

“... Really?” Curt ventured, staring at him wide-eyed. Richard coloured, and suddenly became very interested in the grass around him.

“It sounds silly when you say it like that,” he mumbled. “But, yes. Really.” He continued to fiddle with the grass, twirling stems around his fingertips and shredding them. Curt fell backwards, staring up at the sky. Mary stayed still, wine dripping from her tilted glass, silent. Eventually, she set it down and lay back. Richard and Mary linked hands.

“Am I cool?”

“Yes, Richard. You’re cool.”

 

*

 

“Tell Curt,” he’d said, half-way out of Ben and May’s door, “tell Curt- oh, he knows.”

 

*

 

“I wish you’d bloody well talk to me,” Curt complained bitterly one day. “Did you know I’m being groomed for your job?”

“We have the same job,” Richard replied, absent-mindedly, running a hand through his hair and staring at the computer. “Don’t we?”

“Not _this_ job. I mean- with _Norman._ It’s like being back at bloody boarding school, head boy wants to train me up because his favourite prefect’s leaving. I don’t _want_ to do this, Richard.”

Richard whirled around to look at him, and Curt was struck by the expression on his face; the haunted, desperate look of him. He spoke in a harsh whisper, mindful of the lab assistants coming in and out.  
“Do you think I _want_ to leave?”

There it was, the statement that had hung unspoken between them for months, perhaps even years. Curt didn’t feel like the air had been knocked out of him; he didn’t stagger, or splutter, or stare. He simply said;

“So you _are_ leaving, then?”

Richard nodded. “You knew we were going to.”

That stopped his breath, a little bit.

“We?”

Selfishly, when he’d had to imagine Richard running away, abandoning the project and the family, Mary hadn’t been with him. In his head she was still at home, with Peter, allowing Curt to be stoic by having someone to console and fuss over. The image got even darker, when he realised-

“Peter’s not coming with us,” Richard added, and Curt almost smiled with the relief of it. “We wouldn’t put him in that much danger.”

For a moment, the situation seemed lighter. If he had something to do, a set goal to focus on while they were away, he could get through it. He could deal with Norman and the destroyed research, and more importantly, he could look after his son. They could both wait, albeit impatiently, for the days where things could be normal again.

“Does Peter know _anything_ about this?”

“Of course not. He’s six years old. I said he might be having a little holiday with Ben and May soon, but-”

“Ben and May?”

The betrayal must have shown on his face, because Richard immediately softened. He tried to reach out at a hand, but Curt was already taking a step back.

“It’s only because it’s safer for him-”

“What, you think I can’t look after our son alone?”

“ _I didn’t say that._ Stop putting words in my mouth. If they decide to come after you too, then-”

“Then take me with you!” Curt was aware that he was starting to sound like a child, but couldn’t help it; he needed _something._ Needed to be with Richard and Mary, or needed to look after Peter, needed to not... to not be alone.

“I want to keep you safe,” Richard said, simply. “Both of you. If that means separating you, then so be it.”

“Don’t I get a say in this? No? Fine. God forbid I should meddle in a married couple’s affairs, I’m just the _lab partner_.”

Richard drew in a harsh breath. For a long time, Curt had trodden those feelings down. Been happy to stand at the side, in the group photos at the wedding, outside the hospital room when Peter was born. Well- not happy. But understanding. Understanding that it wasn’t their choice; it was society, hospital regulations, the law. That didn’t make it any easier, however. Richard looked horrified; and yet, somehow, resigned. As if he’d known Curt’s fears all along, and was simply waiting for him to bring it up.

“ _Curt,_ ” he started, at a loss for words, “please don’t- don’t even _think,_ that-”

“ _Dad?”_ They were interrupted by Peter, calling out from somewhere in the house. They left it for a moment, still staring, before- “ _Dad!”_

“Your son’s calling you.”

“ _Our_ son.”

“If he wanted me, he’d call for his uncle. Go.” Softening, he added, “we can talk about the rest later.”

He watched Richard leave, heading for Peter.

He didn’t see the office in disarray, the panic, the papers gathered up and hidden.

He saw Richard and Mary at the door of the second study, with Peter in Mary’s arms, and knew it was time to say goodbye.

 

*

 

The news of the plane crash didn’t even bother him at first. Of course it was sad, but he had other things on his mind; what with Richard and Mary having just left the country, and his plans with his godson that day, Curt didn’t pay the piece a great deal of attention. It was the morning, and his brain still hadn’t caught up with him as he took his first sip of tea. He still had an hour before he had to pick up Peter from his aunt and uncle’s house, for a few hours of something hopefully distracting for the six year old who kept asking when his mom and dad were coming home. The aquarium, maybe, or the children’s section of the library, the place with all the brightly coloured bean bags and the little corner devoted to kid’s textbooks and comics, (unsurprisingly, that was Peter’s favourite way to spend an afternoon.) Satisfied with his own plans, Curt’s eyes flicked back to the television and the morning news.

The mug promptly went crashing to the floor as he realised the magnitude of the unfolding events. It _couldn’t_ be. _Planes crash all the time_ , he reminded himself forcefully before diving towards the phone, ignoring the scalding hot tea dripping down his trousers. _It’s not them. They’re fine. They’re fine. Everything’s going to be okay._

The phone rang as soon as he picked it up, and he almost dropped it again trying to press the accept call button.

“ _Mary?”_ He gasped out, followed quickly by, “ _Richard?_ Hello?”

The smooth voice of Norman Osborn responded. “Curt. I take it you’ve seen the news.”

Curt looked up just in time to see the words “Richard and Mary Parker” pan across the screen before he dropped the phone.

For a long time, everything went black.

 

*

epilogue

 

“Dr Connors, I’m Peter Parker.”

Curt opened the door, and saw the boy properly for the first time since he’d spoken up in Oscorp. That night, he’d dreamed of Richard, and now felt as if he was standing before him; same messy hair, same awkward posture; same _glasses,_ even. Perhaps the very ones Richard had worn in the last years of his life, perched on the nose of his son. _Their_ son. He could see Mary in him too; in his eyes, in his soft, cautious smile.

He could not see himself, and felt both disappointed, and completely, _utterly_ relieved.

“Peter,” he said, with a lump in his throat. “Yes, I- please, come in.”

 

(Peter Parker is searching for his parents, and is scared of two things.

 

a) Curt Connors has the answers, but won’t tell him the truth.

b) Curt Connors doesn’t have the answers, and his search ends before it’s really begun.)

 

(Curt Connors has the answers, and is scared of one thing only; Peter Parker will ask for them.)

 


End file.
